


Any More Obvious

by idiopathicsmile



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 15:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15122198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiopathicsmile/pseuds/idiopathicsmile
Summary: “Look, folks,” says Musichetta, ten minutes from the end of cheer practice, “we have an audience. Aspookyaudience.”Cosette squints across the field and sure enough, Éponine Thénardier is perched on the edge of the leftmost set of bleachers, hunched over a notebook and swinging one fishnetted leg like a Goth metronome.





	Any More Obvious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merelydovely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelydovely/gifts).



“Look, folks,” says Musichetta, ten minutes from the end of cheer practice, “we have an audience. A _spooky_ audience.”

Cosette squints across the field and sure enough, Éponine Thénardier is perched on the edge of the leftmost set of bleachers, hunched over a notebook and swinging one fishnetted leg like a Goth metronome.

“Why the frick is she here,” Cosette mutters.

“‘Lost on the way to the cemetery’ feels cliche,’” says Bahorel, “so let’s say she’s hunting for spell ingredients?”

Éponine does look a little like a witch--a cool urban witch, if that’s a thing. She’s wearing a ripped-up purple flannel shirt over a black camisole and black bike shorts, plus the aforementioned fishnets, heavy boots, and about a pound of jewelry. Cosette knows, from seeing her in Home Ec today, that Éponine’s earrings and bracelet are made out of actual bones.

It’s rude to stare, but Cosette can’t help it. Éponine looks _amazing_. She looks like she’s never even heard of the concept of a dress code. It’s not _fair_.

“Can you believe her parents let her leave the house like that?” Cosette says at last.

“Um, yes?” says Musichetta. “Her parents would let her leave the house wrapped in a literal shower curtain. They’re _bad people._ ”

“C’mon, ladies and Courfeyrac!” Bahorel claps his hands together. “Don’t let _Interview With A Vampire_ get in your heads. Take it from the top!”

 

Éponine is still there when practice lets out.

“Do you think she’s, like, up to something?” asks Cosette as they gather up their stuff.

“What would that even _be_ ,” says Bahorel.

“There’s an easy way to find out,” Musichetta says. “Cosette, I dare you to talk to h--”

“Deal,” Cosette cuts in, shouldering her bag, because she was not raised to back down from anything. Her stomach is already flipping in ways it doesn’t when she is doing _actual flips_ , but Cosette doesn’t care. She is going to nail this.

 

Up close, Éponine doesn’t smell like the grave or anything. Kind of like vanilla, actually. It’s nice. It’s--unexpected. Cosette, on the other hand, is probably giving off strong whiffs of sweaty armpit. She wishes suddenly that she’d thought to take a shower first.

“Hi! Whatcha doing?” says Cosette, in the friendliest, coolest voice she can manage. Way more of a challenge than it should be. She’s weirdly breathless. Usually practice doesn’t leave her quite this winded.

Éponine doesn’t even look up. “‘Writing Count Chocula/Cap’n Crunch slashfic,” she mutters.

Cosette peers down at the notebook, even though she’d have only herself to blame if it scarred her brain forever. But there’s nothing on the paper but doodles, densely intersecting circles and swirls.

“What, is it in the form of a Magic Eye,” Cosette says after a second, and for some reason, that’s what makes Éponine finally tear her gaze away from her precious spiral-bound.

Their eyes meet. Éponine’s irises are seriously beautiful, Cosette thinks with a jealous thud of her heart. Brown speckled with gold, like pirate treasure under the moonlight. _Teen Vogue_ would say to choose a warm-toned eyeshadow to accentuate those flecks. Éponine’s gone with a whole lot of black instead. It would make Cosette look like a raccoon, but Éponine wears it like a literal model.

“Honestly?” says Éponine, blinking those dark-ringed eyes. “I more just thought that’d make you go away.” Cosette doesn’t even know what to say to that but then she doesn’t have to, because Éponine adds, with a huge sigh,  “Look, I’m not gonna sell you a fake ID, okay?”

“Well yeah,” says Cosette. “I hope not, because your customer service is _terrible_.” She thinks, for a second, that Éponine’s lips might start to twitch towards something like a smile, but then it’s gone.

“I’m not gonna sell you drugs, either. Not even Adderall.”

“Do you even know how much caffeine is in a triple shot venti mocha?” Cosette asks. “Trust me, I’m fine.”

Éponine pulls a face, because apparently she is too cool for sugary coffee drinks. Even Bahorel isn’t too cool for sugary coffee drinks; Cosette has seen him slam iced pumpkin lattes like they were water.

There is a long stretch of silence. It’s excruciating. Normally, Cosette is really good with people. Normally--and this may sound arrogant or something, but it’s just the truth--she doesn’t have to work that hard to get people to like her. It’s just a matter of asking them questions about themselves and then actually listening to what they say. And smiling. A lot of smiling.

Cosette doesn’t, like, care what Éponine thinks or anything, but it’s the principle of the thing.

 _‘I am going to be so gosh-darn fricking nice to you,’_ Cosette vows darkly. _‘I will be pleasant and I will be fun, and you WILL like me.’_

“So,” says Éponine, tilting her head to one side in a way that makes her dangly bone earring fall against her long graceful neck, “prank, bet, or dare?”

“What?”

“You’re talking to me,” Éponine says flatly. “Why.”

If Cosette had to guess, Éponine seems like someone with a pretty good nonsense meter. There’s probably no point in lying.

“It was a dare,” she admits, “but I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

This, at least, earns her an expression of real surprise. Éponine raises one thin eyebrow. “ _Why_.”

...touché.

“My dad,” Cosette blurts out, “he has all these rules about what I can and can’t wear, and it’s so unfair, it’s like living in a fricking _nunnery_ , and you--you don’t care what anyone thinks. Can you, I don’t know--”

“Teach you how to fight with your dad?”

“Um, kind of?”

Éponine bites her lip, apparently at a loss for words. Finally, she says, “Just do what I do, tell him you wish you were adopted.”

“I _am_ adopted,” says Cosette.

“Oh,” says Éponine quietly. “Damn. Uh, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Cosette tells her. And then, on sudden inspiration, “hey, do you wanna go shopping with me tomorrow?”

 

***

 

This is Hell. Éponine is in Hell, except also she doesn’t believe in God anymore because no God would be this cruel to even a sort of mediocre person like Éponine, who shoplifts sometimes and swears like a sailor and has smoked since she was 15.

A _shopping date_ with _Cosette Fauchelevent_. What’s worse, it actually almost feels like a _date_ -date, because no way was Éponine going to admit to the Queen of Barbie Planet herself that 99% of Éponine’s clothes come from Goodwill, and so instead they are wandering the _mall_ together, walking so close their arms keep brushing, and sipping on double caramel frap-whatevers that Cosette _insisted_ on buying for both of them with a weirdly determined glint in her eye.

The drink is delicious. Éponine had always thought it would be. At like, six dollars for a small, it had no right to be otherwise.

“None of these clothes have character,” Cosette is saying. “It’s all stuff you could buy anywhere.”

‘Stuff _you_ could buy anywhere,’ Éponine thinks. All the skirts and blouses in this window look like something Cosette would wear: soft wools, pastels, the kind of delicate beading that would never survive on the bottom of a bargain bin. Peering up at the mannequins is like watching high-end commercials or leafing through a fashion magazine or slinking around in the background during cheer practice when nobody’s watching: stealing snapshots of a life Éponine will never have.

For a long time, like all of sophomore year, really, Éponine thought she wanted to _be_ Cosette Fauchelevent. Wanted her impeccable outfits, wanted her car, wanted her ridiculously wholesome sundrenched cheerleading career and her ridiculously wholesome sundrenched boyfriend, Marius. But then the Wonder Couple broke up, leaving Marius to spend all of lunchtime watching Cosette from across the cafeteria with a devastated puppydog face, and seeing him, Éponine had felt only a terrible, queasy sense of recognition.

So there it is: Éponine wants to be the one with her arm around Cosette’s waist, whispering in Cosette’s ear and making her laugh, earning those sunny little smiles, making out in Cosette’s (probably) pink bedroom when Cosette’s dad isn’t home. Honestly, Éponine misses the days she thought she was only longing for Cosette’s _(on point)_ blouse-and-cardigan combo. A sweater is attainable, at least in theory. Cosette’s heart is not.

“Shit,” says Éponine, pointing at the next window down, “check out the hideous hemline on that halter top. The mannequin looks like she’s melting.”

Cosette giggles with one hand clapped over her mouth, like she’s worried about hurting the mannequin’s _feelings_ , and Éponine wants to die. Cosette’s nails are perfect. She’s standing so close. They could lean against each other. They could hold hands. They could--

Really, this whole outing is the most painful stolen snapshot of them all. Éponine wonders idly if any strangers walking by assume they’re dating.

“Oh my _gosh_ ,” says Cosette, lightly touching Éponine on the arm to get her attention (uncalled-for). “That romper in the window across from us looks like a baby’s onesie and now I can’t unsee it.”

“How ‘bout we break in tomorrow night and we move it to Baby Gap, vigilante-style,” Éponine suggests, and Cosette beams at her. Actually beams. _Hell_.

“Are you hungry?” Cosette asks suddenly, and Éponine’s stomach is growling but she’s all ready to say no, since she could no sooner deal with _paying full price for a food court meal_ than she could deal with _Cosette buying her dinner_. “Because we could go back to my place and get a snack,” Cosette continues merrily. “We have push-pops.”

Right, because that’s what Éponine needs. Fifteen minutes of watching Cosette lick something. Perfect.

“Hell, why not,” she hears herself say.

 

On the car ride back to Cosette’s house, Cosette keeps quizzing her on her style. Where does Éponine get her oversized flannels? (Goodwill.) How did Éponine learn how to sew? (It was cheaper than buying new clothes.) Where does Éponine find her jewelry? (Again, mostly Goodwill, but some stuff is rescued and repurposed from garage sales or the $1 bins at Michael’s.).

“It’s just so _cool_ ,” Cosette keeps saying.

Éponine snorts. “Are you kidding me? This from the most fashionable girl in school? Really?” When she glances over to the driver’s seat, Cosette is literally blushing. Éponine wonders if she was laying it on too thick. “Or whatever,” she adds.

_Nice save. Fucking masterful._

“You know,” says Éponine as they pull into the driveway, “if you ever wanna change up your look, you could always dye your hair.”

“Oh my gosh, _yes_!” Cosette cuts the ignition and beams again. “I’ve _always_ wanted, like, red streaks. Would you come over and help talk me through it?”

So they’re doing this again, apparently. Éponine nods, helpless, and unbuckles her seatbelt.

 

The Fauchelevent household is tragically out of pushpops, so they opt for oranges instead. “We can eat in my room,” says Cosette, leading them through a hallway lined with baby pictures and cheer squad photos.

Cosette’s room is not actually pink, but full of airy light blues, like floating through the sky in a watercolor painting. “Do you mind if I shut the door?” asks Cosette. “If you want more air, it’s no problem, but I close it when I can because Dad makes me keep it open if I have a boy over.”

“Why,” says Éponine, settling on the floor to bypass the issue of sitting on the bed.

“So we don’t get into any, uh, hijinks,” Cosette says, laughing a little, taking the spot across from her.

Éponine considers this. “So, has nobody told Darling Papa about lesbians yet?” she says, and then freezes, because Cosette is an improbably nice girl but she is still a popular cheerleader and there is no telling how she will react to that kind of thing.

But Cosette only jumps a little and says, very quietly, “...oh,” eyes wide.

“Oh?” Éponine repeats.

“Do you ever--” Cosette frowns, not angry, just thoughtful. “--get really hung up on something about a person, only to realize later you’re actually hung up on another, different thing?”

Éponine thinks of Cosette and that sweater combo. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah.”

“How do you, like, deal with it?” says Cosette.

“Uh, to be honest,” Éponine clears her throat, “I don’t think I’ve been dealing with it very well.”

Somehow in that instant, she knows she’s said too much. She closes her eyes. She opens them again. Cosette is looking right at her. Cosette is sitting closer than before. Cosette is staring deep into her eyes like there’s a secret there amid the muddy brown and mustard flecks.

“I am so _stupid_ ,” Cosette murmurs reverently.

“Fuck, don’t say that,” says Éponine. “You’re, like, super smart and on the honor roll and st--” and then she doesn’t say anything else because Cosette is kissing her. Cosette is kissing her, steady and sure and sweet, and Éponine’s mind ascends to the astral plane.

 

“Hey, good news,” says Éponine a little later. (Kind of a lot later. For somebody who’s only ever kissed Marius, Cosette _knows what she’s doing_.) “You finally have a way to piss off your dad.”

“He’s actually super progressive on LGBT stuff,” Cosette tells her. “He’s just terrified of me getting pregnant, he’ll be fine with me bringing home a girlfriend.”

 _Girlfriend girlfriend girlfriend_ sings Éponine’s brain.  

Cosette smiles, mischievous. “But we are _totally_ dying my hair.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: High school Eposette cheerleader/goth AU. More specifically, something along these lines... Éponine has a punk goth style that grew out of having to wear dingy and ripped clothing, but she'd love to have the money for cheerleader!Cosette's bright and clean cute skirts and feminine blouses. Cosette isn't allowed out of the house in anything that reveals above the knee or below the collarbones and really wishes she had Éponine's freedom of expression. For a while they can't tell the difference between envy and romantic interest... but they eventually figure it out!
> 
>  
> 
> A commission for merelydovely, who has also drawn some art of cheerleader!Cosette and goth!Éponine; check it out [here](http://starfieldcanvas-art.tumblr.com/post/159726459701/inspired-by-inktaires-goth-%C3%A9poninecheerleader) and [here](http://starfieldcanvas-art.tumblr.com/post/160841568101/%C3%A9ponine-holds-her-liquor-just-fine-but-her-buff). This piece was commissioned for [Les Mis Ladies Week](https://lesmisladiesweek.tumblr.com/)! (Yes, I am a bit early, so there is still tons of time to get involved if you're interested.)


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